Stranger Things
by Eternal Ending
Summary: Sam is living the charmed life. Dean, on the other hand, is at the wrong end of the tracks. Both boys' lives barely intersect, but this changes when a teacher puts them together on a project. But strange things keep happening. Possibly Au. More inside
1. Chance meeting

**Summary: Fourteen-year old Sam is living the charmed life. His adoptive parents are enchanted with him along with nearly everyone else. A year ahead of his class and with the looming promise of a scholarship, Sam is truly going to get what he wants. Not to mention his good nature and personality have him popular and loved. Eighteen-year old Dean, on the other hand, is from the wrong end of the tracks. His foster parents disowned and kicking him out not too long after his eighteenth birthday. His nights are spent drunk or with women or a combination of both. With a sting of angry exes and a group of other low lifes as his friends, he seems to have gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to life. He is faltering in school, stumbling along with horrible grades and teachers that have all but given up with trying to motivate the young man. Except one. While both boys' lives have barely intersected in the year they have been in town, this all changes when a young english teacher makes up a plan. He has yet to have a kid fail ever and is not about to start with Dean. Promising young kid with extra credit and a college referal, he sets the two boys together on a extra credit project that will lift Dean's grade a full letter. But as they meet for their work, strange things keep happening around them. Set backs, push ups, and a strange man who seems to shadow them everywhere they go. Nothing is safe...**

**Author's notes: I always love to read stories like this. Young Winchesters who somehow gravitate towards one another after a time. So I decided to take my own spin at it. This will not be a very long story, maybe ten chapters or a bit more. Have to set limits for myself or else the whole thing will go crazy like Angel's Cry and Evermore did. I want at least five reviews before I will update, but won't get too picky. Anyways, if you guys like it, please tell me.**

**Disclaimer: Let's make a list of all the things I do not own in this story and my intentions. I do not own Sam or Dean. I do not own any of the names and have nothing against or for the ones I picked. I do not own the personality types. I do not own plot types or the idea of Dean and Sam not knowing each other. I do not intend to offend, insult or hurt anyone by writing this. I do not own any of the plotlines of season one, two, three, or four of Supernatural. This is a non-profit story, not meant to do anything but entertain those few golden souls who read it and use massive spurts of inspiration a sixteen-year old mind gets so they do not drive her insane. The one thing I do own, in fact, is combining these elements in the way I do. So please, don't sue.**

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Dean smiled at the girl passing by him. She caught his gaze and carelessly stumbled forward. Her eyes fixed on him and a slight tinge of color rushing to her cheeks despite last hour's dissections. Dean cocked a brow at her slightly and she was visably trembling now.

Said female was not in his taste, but that wasn't why he was trying to get her attentions. She was so caught up on watching him, smoothly leaning against the wall in his worn leather jacket, with a host of other guys on either side. Each cracking puns and jokes around him about god knew what. But she failed to notice the door swinging open and Thomas Martin, the school's lazy janitor, sluggishly coming out supplies. Including the barrel that contained a collection of the vomit and such gathered from the last couple days of dissecting

With a slooshy spat, the whole thing was overturned, sending bile towards everyone down the Eastern corridor of Jackson High. All the guys around him broke into a fit of laughter and a few of them giving each other high fives as their plan had succeeded perfectly.

The embarrassed and now stinky young woman looks back at Dean, a light in her eyes spoke her understanding. She knew it had been all intentional. On the outside, Dean laughed just like all the other guys, forcing the girl to burry her head in her hands. On the inside, a small part of him wanted to run over there and help her.

It wasn't so much that he didn't want to. Or that he couldn't see what he'd done was wrong. It was the young men laughing wildly like hyenas behind him. They just about were. To his right was possibly the greatest reason he had gone along with the plan. Jacob Wiles. The way Dean saw it, if he had to be kicked out of his house and nearly homeless, he might as well be allowed to feed his addiction every night.

Jacob had been in high school seven years now. But his twenty-first birthday had not been the first of his alcohol filled nights. His step-dad owned a bar, about the only thing he was good for. The elder man himself was a degenerate drunk; hardly ever coherent enough to notice when a bottle of Jack or any other drink went missing unaccounted for. Nor did he seem to grasp the concept of being twenty-one to drink.

Jacob's mother was a so-called "closet" addict. If he timed it right, he could have money for just about anything. He often slowly stiffened off this month's latest drugs, taking small portions of her substance so she, who was a bit sharper, wouldn't catch on. Jacob currently had maybe two or three pounds of Marijuana, a small vile of heroin, all the tobacco a kid could ever ask for, and a small mix of not that great cocaine.

To be honest, Dean mostly only drank. Not that he hadn't tried all the rest. With a friend like Jacob, it was hard not too. They'd even got their hands on a little bit of LSD a couple times since around a year ago when Dean had first moved into the town.

Without the elder man, Dean didn't know what he would do. After his foster family decided to kick him out because of one too many nights where he came in drunk, Jake had offered his place up to share. Dean did just fine in the money department though; from all his skill at hustling he didn't know where it came from, he quickly had more than a thousand dollars in the bank. He could probably afford his own place, but it would without a doubt be lonely.

And for some reason, everywhere he went, he always felt so open without someone. Like he was meant to have someone there all the time. But for some reason, he didn't.

He couldn't afford to loose Jake. And so he stood there. Snickering as the freshman down the hallway attempted to avoid the disgusting mix edging toward them and the janitor frantically as his age allowed tried to clean up the mess. But through it all, the one thing he saw was the girl's eyes, staring accusingly at him.

He felt Jake's hand on his shoulder, a clear indication that the joke had run thin. The rest of the guys followed his leader, messing around still and laughing as they sauntered off. Dean stood for a moment longer, looking at the girl with a slight look meant to vaguely substitute as an apology as she picked up her stuff out of the mess and began cleaning it up.

Then he turned away and made to catch up with the other guys. Just as he rounded the corner, he slammed into some kid on his way towards them.

"Excuse yourself." The kid muttered.

"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes. This was that weird gifted kid. The one who skipped a grade and was in one of his classes. Everyone in his class made such a fuss over him. Despite his age and looking down at his tiny, should-be-freshmeat form, he was suddenly sitting with all the cool kids. Didn't look like much to Dean. Just another spoiled, lucky son of a bitch.

Dean just turned away from him. He could see Jake and his posy turning around, obviously not liking the way the kid behaved. They had already messed up one kid's day already. They didn't need to mess up this kid's face too.

"Dude, could you be a bigger jerk?" Dean stopped. He knew Jake would never let him live it down if he didn't at least show this kid who was boss. He turned back to see a light in the kid's hazel eyes. He had to admit, the kid had guts. Not to mention there was just something…something about him.

"What did you say, you little bitch?" Even as he said this, his tongue tingled, as if he had said it before. Just as he felt something when the boy said 'jerk.'

"Sorry, did I offend you, princess?" Just as soon as he finished speaking, Dean could hear all the boys coming; the youngest, a kid named David, cracking his knuckles in slight anticipation for a fight.

"You got something to say bout my friend, you little punk?" Jacob lashed.

"It's Sam. And ya, I do. Tell him to watch where he is going next time." Jake glared down at the kid.

"Listen, dude, let's just go. He ain't worth it." Dean tried. He prayed one of them would back off. Jake kept his icy sights on Sam and for the slightest moment, Dean felt he wouldn't back off. He realized just how strange it was for him to stand up to Jake this way. What was even weirder was that if the younger boy got into it with Jake, Dean might actually be on Sam's side. In fact, by his hand instinctively rushing to his waste where he concealed a small pocketknife just in case, it might go farther than that even.

Finally, Jake backed off with a slight laugh. "Fine, man. Not like it's my manhood he insulted." He turned his back along with the rest of the group. "Come on. See ya later, Sammy boy."

Dean felt hesitant to leave to be honest. But it had been his suggestion, so he quickly managed to the front of the pack. He did just as usual, cracking jokes about the boy's height and the remaining jokes on the vomit-covered girl. But he spared one glance back to the boy, who was still there. He watched the group till one of Sam's own friends come up to him. With in a few moments, both boys had rounded the corner, leaving that odd feeling and the confrontation behind.

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"It's Sam." He growled after the group of boys. How could there be kids like that that weren't stuck rotting in juvey somewhere? Exspecialy that Jake kid. He'd seen him around a couple times. Walked in on him once in the bathroom with a glazed look over his eyes and a skinny canister stuck away where he thought Sam couldn't see.

Not to mention his adoptive parents house was only a few miles from his step-father's bar. He could always hear the older man's drunken rages. Could hear the glass breaking and the ruckus he made late into the night.

Everyone of those kids were pure trouble. But the thing that gave him the words to speak up to that kid…Dean, shoved him hadn't been any number of these things. It had been the waft of leather and gun powder floating off the older man as his shoulder hit Sam. The natural feel of 'jerk' rising up in his mouth. The spark of recognistion and protectiveness in the kid's eyes as Jake prepared to beat him to a pulp. Even that pause as he walked away.

He clearly had felt it too. Sam had heard very little about Dean. He moved here about a year ago, just around the same time Sam. He had floated seamlessly into the low lifes, the scumbags. But there was something about him. Something different. Part of Sam had desperately wanted to speak to him since his first day in their English class. But he rapidly got caught up in the higher crowd in the class. People whom he clicked with seamlessly. But never him, sitting in the back of the class. Occasionally flirting with pretty girls of all rankings and later feeling their scorn.

But this was the first true interaction the two had had. Sam hated the fact that he felt so attuned to the elder man. He couldn't stand that things just felt so right when he was there. Like everything was okay.

Still, as Dean stole one last long glance back at him, his green eyes sent a tingling feeling through him, like he was meant to follow. And he probably would have, had a hand not shook him out of his trance.

"Sam…Earth to Sam." A familiar voice said. He turned and saw the overly-red cheeks, slightly pressed in nose, and skater boy styled deep brown hair of his friend.

"Ya, ya, Eric. Hear ya loud and clear."

"Good. You were starting to worry me with the way you zoned out there. Thought I might have to throw a bucket of water on you to wake you up." Eric got that look that Sam knew meant he was freaked a little. His lips tightened, shrinking to half their size, though still a bit fuller than Sam's. His eyes got a little larger.

"I was just…." He gave a quick glance Dean's direction "ah never mind."

"Come on. You have to see what happened right in front of our lockers." Sam had a bad feeling it had to do with the nasty smell that had filled the hall a while back.

"So what was that about, anyways?" Eric as the two made their way down the hall.

"What?" Sam asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Your whole facedown with the leaders of the drugees. You know, the kids that were just in your face."

"Oh, that?" Eric gave an inssesant look. "Well, I sorta…Dean ran into me."

Eric looked at his friend, waiting for him to go on. As if he needed a much better explanation for almost getting his head torn off. "Dude, is that seriously it? The second in command gives you a little shove and you decide to fight till you get the whole group on you're ass?"

"It seriously was nothing." Though Sam knew this was likely just the beginning. No one got away with insaulting any member of their little group unsckathed. Even if Dean didn't want to fight him, no matter what Jake said, this wasn't over.

Before the conversation could continue, they were there. And Sam couldn't help but just stare. There was vomit and god knew what else everywhere as the janitor tried to clean it up. A few of the braver kids were standing lightly on their tip toes, trying to get their lockers open without touching the putrid smelling waste. Almost every girl stood as far away as she could manage. A couple teachers tried to make order of things, scuttling around. One kid rounded the corner on the opposite way, saw the mess himself, and all the contents of his stomach joined the mess on the floor. Everything was in such disarray, it was no wonder none of the teachers had noticed the almost-fight just a corner away.

This was going to be a long day…


	2. Why him?

**Disclaimer: Let's make a list of all the things I do not own in this story and my intentions. I do not own Sam or Dean. I do not own any of the names and have nothing against or for the ones I picked. I do not own the personality types. I do not own plot types or the idea of Dean and Sam not knowing each other. I do not intend to offend, insult or hurt anyone by writing this. I do not own any of the plotlines of season one, two, three, or four of Supernatural. This is a non-profit story, not meant to do anything but entertain those few golden souls who read it and use massive spurts of inspiration a sixteen-year old mind gets so they do not drive her insane. The one thing I do own, in fact, is combining these elements in the way I do. So please, don't sue.**

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Dean tapped his pen across the ancient, graphitized desk. Designs of intricate patterns and floppy, messy picture alike grew only larger every day and its worn edges were in a dire need of sanding.

But Dean paid both no mind today, not even bothering to add to the wild patterns he himself had started yesterday out of pure boredom. It was an hour before lunch, so his stomach grumbled softly, protesting the quick shot of vodka being his only intake today so far.

He was here uncharacteristically early for Advanced English. Not that Dean was any real good at English, much less Advanced. Go figure, there were no other spots open in the normal ones or even the extra help courses.

To avoid getting shit from Jake and the rest about going to class early, being a 'teacher's little brainiac,' as Jake had once put it, he simply told the truth. Or part of it anyway, he reflected as Darci Simmons came in the door. This month's hopeful catch. She herself was smoking hot. Silky black hair, tight ass, decent chest, the works wearing cute little innocent school girl type clothes. On most other girls, the look doesn't work. But a paper bag could work on Darci. He had heard she only just recently got hot. That would explain her soft toned voice and massive brain.

But no matter how sizzling Darci was, Dean had to admit she had more been an excuse today. For while she gave him that usual, coy smile as she tossed her books and bag down, it was who just walked in the door that got the greater portion of his attentions.

Short, scrawny little Sam Porter, as he learned the boy's last name had been. The brown haired boy was eagerly flanked by a curly, curvy bright blonde who tossed a quick glare Dean's direction, an overly-buff, spiky dark-haired boy with light blue eyes, and a hazel-eyed skater boy with something akin to Rosacea splattered across his cheeks. He knew the girl was Angela Freeman. They had dated for a short time…till she learned he was dating Beth Walker at the same time. The other two kids Dean barely knew. The only thing he did know was that at lunch they sat with Sam and were high up on the high school food chain.

Sam made his way to his seat, beaming slightly at the skater. He took his place beside Darci. Said girl glanced back towards Dean and realized he was staring right at her based on the flush and giggle that followed. Sam turned to see what she was laughing at and their eyes met.

There was that feeling again. Like he was supposed to know him. Like he already did. But that was crazy. Sure he was adopted just as Dean was fostered. But Sam was smart and cool. He fit in so well with the rest of the class save Dean. Everyone loved him. Even Mr. Zutts, the math teacher from Hell, seemed way too taken with the boy. He had a bright future ahead of him, Dean was sure, while the older boy would likely be just as he was now in ten or twenty years. A hopeless drunk with no future and no high school diploma, while Sam would be off at some Harvard-type school. He, for some reason, could best see the younger boy as a lawyer. Or some other big shot job.

Sam's eyes seemed to be colored with a million emotions at once. There was anger, rage…the kind that for some reason made Dean a bit uneasy. Like despite his size, the boy was stronger than he let on. But it seemed almost like a cover. A mask to cover up the rest. He could faintly make out confusion. An unasked question. And a determination to find the answer. Any other emotions were lost in translation. Too subtle to stand out a midst the stronger ones.

His friend came over to him—the one with the cherry-red cheeks. The two talked a moment and Sam shot a glance Dean's direction, his friend mimicking his gesture. He couldn't help but wish he knew what they were saying.

For the first time in this class, something more than girls and doodling interested him. Sam scratched at his arm a bit and ran his hands through his thick brown hair as he turned to the front. Darci beside him asked him something and Sam gave a sharp nod. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and fumbled around her bag for something.

Dean never really saw what it was. Make-up, maybe? Not that it really mattered. He was paying more attention to Angela, who sat a seat in front of Sam. She kept shooting him awkward glances and pulling out her cell. Every time she put hers down, Sam's would flash and he would reply.

Just then, the bell rang. Rosy cheeks rushed to his seat and Angela and Sam put away their phones as the rest of the class raced to their seat. Just as the last kid sat, sending his desk trembling, the door opened.

Mr. Fenwick slid in, smoothly as ever. Even though the teacher was still in the teacher dress code, Dean had to give the guy props. He wore a loose fitting suit, the kind that looked like it could fit in in school about as well as some night club a few miles down the road. He didn't carry that usual businessman drag or the over-caffeinated look some teachers got. Of course, he still had time to get it. The guy was still really young, no older than thirty. While he currently wore his hair gelled and carefully styled to give it that official look, one day, when Dean had been stuck in detention for skipping with the rest of the guys, Fenwick had been the attendee. And when he had come in, his hair had been scruffed up and Dean saw faint prints of lip stick on his collar. He had to admit, he had a certain respect for this teacher. He could easily see him in high school, molding in perfectly to their group.

Still, just because Dean thought he was cool didn't mean he ever liked to listen to any teacher's lectures. So, instead of even bothering with giving the older man eye contact, he set about doing as he always did. doodling and tossing the occasionally flirty glance Darci's way mixed in with his thinking about why the Hell he should even try to talk to a kid like Sam.

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"So, he really almost hit you?" Eric asked, his eyes wide with intrest. Over the course of the morning, he slowly managed to drag the story out of Sam. Every last detail.

"Of course he did." Justin Snyder answered for Sam. "He is always protective of his little possie. Sam, you better watch yourself. No way Jake's through with you."

"Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Dean joined him." Angela's lower lip pouted slightly. Justin laughed.

"You're just upset he moved on so quick." Justin grinned when he got the result he was looking for, Angela seething. "But seriously dude, they start giving you shit and you just tell me. Me and the rest of the team'll be on them before they can do crap to you."

"I can handle it myself. Don't need you getting involved too, Scruff." Sam responded, using Justin's child nickname to shut him up. "As if I didn't have enough to deal with without having the football season ruined to stop a bunch of assholes."

As they reached the threshold of the classroom, Eric glanced through the window. "Speaking of assholes."

"He's in there?" Justin's jaw dropped.

"Already?" Angela asked, fingers running through her hair, as if to fix it up.

"Since when is he even on time?" Sam asked, peering in at Dean, who was figeting with his pencil.

"Excuse me." A small voice said behind them. Sam turned to see Darci, tightly clutching her books to her chest.

They let her through and she quickly made her way to her seat. Dean's eyes refixed on her with a vague lust and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"The little tramp…" Angela muttered.

"Mystery solved." Justin declared.

But Sam wasn't so sure. Just something about him seemed so far off. And though the group often joked about his group of cronies stupidity, almost like they didn't even have brains, this testified otherwise. His eyes, mossy green orbs, flashed, full and deep in thought as he tapped his writing utensil on the desk.

His lustful gaze flashed over to Darci, almost like it was all a show. Dean was as a shifty politician, making some big speech. But despite his words, who knew where his mind was? What he was really thinking….

Sam shook his head. Why did he even care? If he voiced this to the others, he knew they'd think he was weird. Why couldn't he just ignore the older boy? Why couldn't things be the way they should be? When they only mingle in the classroom they are sitting near each other and Dean cranes to see Sam's answers to some big test while Sam tries to block him.

As he and the rest walked in, Sam could feel Dean's gaze shift. He tried to behave casually, as if everything was normal. Angela gaze her customary glare at Dean, just as she did every day. But why today did it make his stomach flip?

"Will she ever get over him? The girl has big enough tits for another guy already…" Eric cracked beside him and he couldn't keep the grin off his face as Angela huffed, clearly hearing his joke and storming the rest of the way to her seat infront of Sam and Darci, whom she also shot a glare at.

After that point, he mangaged to make things fall into their normal routine for the moment. Justin and Eric went to their seats on the far side of the classroom, but as usual, only Eric would returned. Justin had this horrible habit of talking his "smoking problem"(he'd had all of three cigarettes in his life) with Anna Smith, this girl Eric swore he liked. And he always did it subtley. She was a skater girl, full on tomboy and rumored to be bisexual. In other words, she was a freak. And they didn't associate with freaks. So he spent the whole hour mixing talking to Steven Free and Eric while subtly flirting with Ana.

But Eric and Sam weren't mean enough to tell everyone else. They just wanted no part in her.

Just like Sam wanted nothing to do with Dean.

Sam shook his head again as he sat. How did that boy keep sneaking back into his thoughts? They were worlds apart. Different as night and day. Bum and A-lister. Sam had everything right now. The friends, the grades, the respect….so then why was he willing to risk it all to pay attention to some low-life-drunk?

He heard Darci give a nervous giggle, tucking her straight lush black hair behind her ears as blood rushed to her cheeks, giving her fair, clean skin a rosy blush. All of the sudden, Sam felt a slight rage. He knew what Dean was going to do with Darci. What he did to all his girls; what his friend sometimes did to their friends.

He was going to abandon her. Or hurt her in on way or another. Why take a young girl who had no confidence in herself and was falling for possibly one of the first times for a cute boy and further destroy her? Really, what the heck? Why did he interest Sam at all? He hurt several of Sam's friends. Maybe not directly, but his little group of friends counted.

With a slight malice in his heart, he turned back, looking directly into Dean's eyes. He had meant to scream to Dean not to hurt her, but the moment their eyes locked, he felt something. A shadowy figure filled his mind, slowly encroaching on him while he cried out desperately. It was gone in a second, leaving Sam to wonder if it was even real. Just flash …a memory maybe? It was weird…he remembered so little of his life before….

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped slightly.

"Sam?" Eric asked, his eyes filled with a question, the way they always were. "Are you okay?"

"Ya…" Sam raised his brow at Eric and ran his hands through his hair. "Why?"

"It's just…" Eric started. "you've been really spacey and…" he struggled to find the wrong word. "look, you can tell me man….even if it sounds…crazy."

"It's just…." Sam glanced towards Dean. "....never mind…"

Eric glanced over. "Oh….listen if he gives you trouble…"

"No, it's not that…" Sam ran his hands through his hair. "I just…" 'feel like I've known him all my life' was what he wanted to finish with. But how could he say that, even to Eric?

"Is he still looking?" A soft voice asked beside him. Sam glanced at Darci, giving a sharp nod and watched as she nervously fumbled around her bag and pulling out something Sam didn't see. For it was then his pocket wildly buzzed.

He grabbed his phone and saw he had two new messages. One was some lame forward, a "If you forward this the love of you're life will realize they love you and tell you tonight at twelve. If you don't, the bogyman'll come and eat you," type of message. He ignored it. Since when did those things ever come true? He was fourteen and had yet to see a single boogyman…

The second was from Angela. _How could he like sum1 who has no personality?_

He sent her back: _Don't pretend you know her Ang._

_Don't pretend u do._

_Never said I did, but don't take out your jealousy on her. You know he will do the same thing to her he did to you._

_Ya i guess that's true. Poor little thing…_

The bell rang then, taking everyone by surprise. Angela and Sam put away their phones as Eric frantically rushed to his seat. Justin and Steven both sat down quickly from where they had been standing near the wall while Ana took her time going back to her own seat. As the class quietly waited for the teacher, Ben Jefferson came flying in, definitely breaking some sort of speed limit. He jumped into his desk, just barely on time as usual, sending the whole thing shuddering.

Just then, Mr. Fenwick came in. Despite the school's usual policy of wanting the kids to know every teacher on a "personal level," aka knowing all you're teacher's first names, Sam still didn't know Fenwick's. In fact he didn't know much about the handsome young teacher at all. Except that he seemed to be a lady's man and witty by nature.

And he was fairly good at teaching, Sam reflected as he broke into his lecture on Hamlet. The way he described it, even making small parallels to the Lion King to add a sense of innocence to the story, kept Sam's mind off Dean for the moment. Busy thinking of a time with knights and princes. Though the treachery and spite remained in today's culture, at least there were no evil, complex plots…

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As the bell rung finally after an hour adding to yesterday's drawing of a gang symbol he was trying to make, Dean slowly gathered his stuff. He barely glanced at his lastest test. He knew it had been massive and fell asleep half way through. So a thrirty-three out of eighty-seven actually wasn't too bad for him.

No surprise Dean saw Sam's was one-hundred percent. Plus he signed up for the "mystery" extra credit that Fenwick had made up. Hense the fact that Sam was still here after the bell had rung, getting his assignment.

"Dean…" A strong voice said as he headed toward the door. Fenwick gestured him to come. Puzzled, Dean came to the front, glacing at short little Sam once in question. The boy seemed not sure for once and broke eye contact. He looked off to his left.

"Listen, Dean." Fenwick began. "I am new here, so I can't really speak for very much. But all year, no one has failed this course. And I intend to keep it that way…" Dean rolled his eyes as Fenwick dug around his cluttered desk for something. Too late for that… "I know you got put in here despite not meeting the usual critearia. I also know this wasn't you're fault. So here's what I am going to do for you.

"I want you and Sam to do a project together."

The instant the words were out, both boys harmonized in their argument. "What? With him?"

"Yes. Sam does this and I will personally see he gets a scholarship to whatever school he wants if it kills me." he smiled and turned to Dean. "And Dean, you do this and you will pass, no matter you're grades on everything else. You can add to your lovely drawing back there all you want."

"But why him?" Dean asked, more not wanting to mess things up and have Sam's scholarship than not be partnered with him.

"Because Sam has gotten straight As on every test and is more than passing with his assignments. Are there anymore questions boys?"

Sam shrugged and remained silent but Dean's jaw was working with no sound coming out.

"Good…Now here's what I want you to do…"

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**So that's all she wrote…or rather, all I wrote, for now. Tell me what you think. Details on the project and maybe a little more clues coming next chapter. I like the response I am getting on this idea…**


	3. Not such a bystander

**I know I know, this right here is classic me. It has been literally forever since I updated, but let me tell you first and foremost that I get the worst writers block. If I really really force my self to, I can pop out a crap chapter. But I usually regret it later, as it takes me down a road I hadn't intended on going. A less interesting, less me road that has even been known to make me so disgusted with my own work that I take it off the internet, edit it, and pop out a story that goes worlds away from the one you first saw. So rather than doing that, I write whenever I can. Inspiration, business, and acessablity govern this and….aw screw it. How many of you are actually gonna read this much of my dumb excuses. I mean, I am updating now. Not like I have that much appolgising to do, after all, you guys don't even have your pitchforks out yet. That would be for Evermore… not even one torch either*Sees some kid in the back light a torch and the rest of the crowd pull pitch forks out of their asses* Okay okay, so maybe this happens a lot. Sheesh should think you guys are used to it by now! Fine fine on with the story.**

**As is my trade mark for this story:Disclaimer: Let's make a list of all the things I do not own in this story and my intentions. I do not own Sam or Dean. I do not own any of the names and have nothing against or for the ones I picked. I do not own the personality types. I do not own plot types or the idea of Dean and Sam not knowing each other. I do not intend to offend, insult or hurt anyone by writing this. I do not own any of the plotlines of season one, two, three, or four of Supernatural. This is a non-profit story, not meant to do anything but entertain those few golden souls who read it and use massive spurts of inspiration a sixteen-year old mind gets so they do not drive her insane. The one thing I do own, in fact, is combining these elements in the way I do. So please, don't sue.**

"You can't be serious…." Eric's left brow raised. His best friend was making a bigger deal out of the project Mr. Fenwick had assigned them then Sam was. "You didn't take it did you?"

Sam sighed. There was no way of fully justifying it in Eric's eyes. Eric knew Sam had already received some attention from Stanford, Sam's dream school. And though nothing was firm, his parents said if he really wanted to go, they would help out with the bills a little. No, the full ride was not the real reason; it was just an excuse. Not that Eric would buy it.

Since Sam first moved here, Eric had been his double. He knew Sam better than anyone in the school. And though the older boy could sometimes be a little annoying, Sam didn't know what he would do with out him. And he knew Eric felt the same.

Eric's mom died last year; around the same time his old best friend, Aiden, moved away. He hadn't had anyone to talk too truly. The rest of the group supported him, looking out for him and trying to keep him out of depression. But none of them were truly there for him when he needed it. When Sam had moved here, the two clicked instantly. It didn't take too long till they told each other everything. Well, almost everything.

"Yes, I took the project. You forget, Eric…there is still time for me to mess this up. Dean is gonna get me out of here. All I have to do is one measly project."

"But why him? Seriously Sam, there has to be something easier. Or did you forget, the boy is glued to the same one who wants to beat you to a pulp?" Eric clapped his left fist against his right hand to hammer down the point of 'dead meat.' But the older boy wouldn't understand. He couldn't understand…

"I am not gonna back out of it now just because of Jake…" A flash of the older boy's strong, deadly face came to mind. His deep dark eyes bottomless pits of malice. The rigid, empowered way the much older man stood.

Sam shook his head. "Besides, maybe it won't be that bad…" Sam didn't even know where those words had come from. Not that bad? He was Dean's exact opposite in every way. How could it not be "that bad?" It wasn't just going to be bad was the answer. It was going to be horrible.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Eric from the look on his face. Sam broke eye contact as he continued gathering his stuff for next period.

"What ever you say man…" Eric shook his head, surrendering. Part of Sam wished Eric wouldn't stop…cause he was just about to give in and say the project was a no go when Eric finally relented. "So are we still on for tonight?" Eric asked as Sam stood up straight, brushing off his dark jeans to walk to class.

"We had plans tonight?" Sam mused aloud.

"Uh ya…come on, don't tell me you forgot…" Sam gave him a clueless look. Eric laughed. "Scored us invites to Beth Water's party, remember?"

"Oh, sorry man…tonight I am supposed to meet Dean at the library to start the project."

Eric made a sound somewhere in between a laugh and a gag. "Dean? In a library? You can't be serious…"

"Well I am meeting him there tonight." Sam said firmly.

"Oh come on Sam! It's Beth Waters. You know Beth…the same girl who happens to be best friends with a certain someone…" Eric made a kissy face.

Sam didn't make eye contact as he quickly replied, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Eric laughed as he turned around to see said freshman walking not a foot behind them with Beth and some other freshman. "Whatever." He said before whispering just loud enough so only Sam could hear. "See you later lover boy…"

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Her name was Linda Adamson. She had the same seventh hour with Sam…Advanced Chemistry ironically. She had deep brown hair, almost black, and bright, piercing sky blue eyes. Often she wore her hair scraped up in a messy ponytail, such that it took Sam a while to learn she kept her hair to about shoulder's length. Most often she wore a simple combination of a graphic t and jeans, with a single simple rose gold chain hanging around her neck.

The first time Sam saw her, he'd instantly felt something. Some connection. Eric always joked about it when he told him, saying it wasn't some mystical connection. He wanted in her pants. Plan and simple.

But Sam always just shrugged it off. He knew it wasn't that simple. Because yes, Linda was without a doubt gorgeous. But he had met other girls this year he had thought were pretty. But Linda was…different. She was only a freshmen still, though she had made her way into college level chemistry class. The girl was ridiculously smart. And all year as Sam continuously watched her at a distance, he's learned many things about her.

He had not once seen her be intentionally cruel to another kid. In high school, this was a highly uncommon thing. Whenever she walked into a room, he could feel his face light up. She seemed to radiate everything he'd ever dreamed of; which is why no mater how hard he tried, he couldn't think of another girl. She made him behave strangely.

It was not like normal love though.

The more he fell for her, the more he tried to stay away.

It was strange. Every time he got anywhere close to her, he would think of a reason they couldn't be together and turn the other way. Over the last few months, Eric had called him on it. He'd dubbed Sam, "the flake," for this reason.

This week it was Jake and his posy. It was true they were known as the Maphia of high school. You upset one, all of them were on your back. And they were not above using others to wreak revenge on their enemies. Most of them handsome, dangerous, buff, and dark, they often went after the girls of their enemies. Screwing them then screwing them over. And while Sam knew Linda would never fall for men like them, that didn't matter. There were rumors…

Adam Red, known more commonly as Big Red, got into it with Jake when he hit him in the face with a ball in gym by accident. In the fight that ensued, Adam had managed to win, being a star on the football team and much larger and stronger than Jake even. It broke Jakes reputation quite a bit.

Not long after, Big Red's girlfriend, Amanda Freeman the school virgin queen, was found on the street. She was horribly beaten and had been raped by multiple men. She was nowhere close to dead, but she had no clue who they were. Fingers pointed to Jake, but there was no proof. The whole incident shattered their relationship and Big. The two had been seniors at the time and engaged. But afterwards, she could scarcely even look at another guy, because there was always the lingering fear that they were one of the guys who would do that to her again.

Sam hadn't been there when it happened, but the story truly did send chills down his spine. Especially when he thought of Linda. He could not see her in that situation. Bloody and bruised. Screaming, crying.

So even as she gave him a sweet smile and said, "Thank you, Sam." As he held the door to their class for her, he kept himself from going any further than "My pleasure."

Feeling vaguely lame, he walking over to his seat near the middle. In this class, he had no particular ties to anyone else. Everyone acknowledged him and jumped at the chance to be partners with him, but most of them were seniors. Far too concentrated in their studies and picking out colleges to concern with making sophomore friends.

He fiddled with his pen a bit, tapping it across the black table he sat at. He couldn't help but wonder how things had gone today. How a kid he had only seen at a distance was now the key to his entire future. And chances were, Sam was now going to be the difference for him between one life and another. But where would those paths take them?

He then realized that he had been thinking of them together, as if after high school seeing each other would be commonplace. And while deep down Sam realized based on what he knew for sure about Dean said that was a horrible thing, his heart told him otherwise. That glimpse of protectiveness…exception…love even, was really how Dean was though all evidence spoke to the contrary.

He was still lost in thought when Mrs. Nelson, his elderly, sweet but a bit eccentric teacher, came in the door. Her directions went right over his ears. Which is exactly why when he heard a sweet, familiar voice beside him he just about jumped out of his chair. And before he could fully regain his balance, he was on the floor

Her laugh bubble out of her lips as Linda extended her hand down to help him up. "Didn't mean to jump you." Her sweet voice was colored with the slightest Brooklyn twang.

Sam quickly attempted to regain his composure despite the rosy blush forming on his cheeks. "No, no...I was just thinking. It's all my fault. Should of actually been paying attention. Hell, I don't even know what we are doing."

She chortled slightly, brushing a stray clump of hair, which never stayed in place, out of her face. "Your secret is safe with me. We are picking out new lab partners."

"What?" Sam's voice came out more shrill and tight than he had intended. "I thought Nelson always picked them out for use." He recovered with, though his still maturing adolescent voice still betrayed a little peek of the churning, butterflies currently rolling around in his stomach.

"Oh she does. But I guess last night, while she was finishing, one of her cats got at her bird. While she was trying to rescue the poor thing, the other one found her way to her plans and mistook it for a litter box."

Sam laughed, loosening up a little. That was just like Mrs. Nelson. "Guess that's not the first time. I am just glad she had enough sense to just through out my test and not try and give it back to me."

"Oh my." Linda laughed again. It cut short too fast for Sam. He liked to hear her laughing and even more so to know that he was the one who made her laugh. "So what do you say, Sam, you wanna be my lab partner?"

Sam hesitated. He could think of about a million reasons he should say no. But when he looked her in the eye, a reason picked out, it melted away. All the reasons of why he should make up an excuse faded before the look she was giving him.

He found himself scarcely in control of his mouth as he said, "Sure."

As she sat down, a sharp waft of Escada filling his nose, he couldn't help but wonder if he might come to regret this. But watching her move with smooth grace and the beaming smile she gave him, he knew at least for the moment, it was the right decsion.

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The clock seemed to be too slow and too fast at the same time.

Seconds would tick by mecanicly slow, and then suddenly speed up to the point of sounding like it was just one endless click. Maybe that was because one second, Dean would want class to end now so he could get out of the sticky dreary classroom and meet Sam for their project.

Till he realized how horrible the library would be too. There would be no one he knew intimately there, but that wouldn't stop the rumors from flying and getting to his friends' ears. Not to mention he still didn't know why the hell he even agreed to this project.

So he was forced to the unrelenting torture of twisted time. Every word Mrs. Kyles spoke was lost to him. Every random giggle and whisper of his classmates went unheard. His ears remained focused on the constant tick of the clock. His eyes locked on its face, watching as the little hands ebbed towards meeting and the time when the bell would finally go off.

Three.

Two.

One.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

He gathered his stuff and tore out the door before the teacher could stop him with her usual "Class is dismissed when I say, not the bell." He knew tomorrow he'd likely have her lecture to look forward too, but for now, screw her. School was out and it was time to try and make sense of today, not deal with Mrs. Kyles' distain for him. What possibly could the old broad know anyways?

The moment he reached his locker he smashed his stuff in and slammed it shut. He and the other boys never worried about people getting into their locker. No student would try. And as for the faculty, well, they never brought illegal stuff to school that they kept in their locker. Oh no, they shoved it in one of the empty ones or in some random kid's locker.

They tended to get a bigger kick out of watching another kid try and worm their way out.

He leaned up against the wall, glad to feel its cool surface on his back. Knowing it would be a while till Jake was here yet desperate for a quick fix, Dean dug into his pockets, pulling out some of Jake's special recipe. The eldest boy had come to realize that teachers were always on the look out for alcohol. So instead of any of the normal tricks to sneaking it, lemonade, water, and pop bottles, Jake soaked peanuts and other things like that in alcohol for days. Then he let them dry and threw in different kinds of seasonings. It was an ingenious idea. Food helped cover the smell a bit. None of the teachers had caught on quite yet, but Dean knew as soon as they had, Jake would just switch to a different kind of food.

It didn't take too many till Dean felt a pleasant buzz and the alcohol's listless bliss fill him. Everything always felt so much better when he was drunk. The rest of the world didn't matter so much. Things weren't so serious all of the time. He wasn't a low life loser anymore. He wasn't alone. He wasn't hurt. There was no longer this great big hole or this massive piece of himself he was missing. He was just Dean. And it was only when he was sober that he realized all of those things were true…

"Hey man." Tom Hunt said beside him, his speech slightly erratic and his pupils dilated. Tom was a newer addition to the group and was always desperate to get Dean and Jakes approval. Mostly Jake, but that didn't mean he wasn't hooked on Dean like a parasite when Jake wasn't around.

"Hey." Dean offered him a few nuts, not wanting too so much as just trying to keep him entertained till Jake got here. Tom took a couple, but not too many. He wasn't a strong alcoholic. Marijuana was his thing and by his eyes, he was already sky-high on it. He saw the rest of the group off in the distance, coming towards them.

"So what we doing tonight?" Tom asked casually.

"No idea…I am supposed to chill with someone from out of town tonight." Dean lied effortlessly.

"Really? That's what Jake said. He's meeting some one tonight…. we're not supposed to come over."

"What?" Dean said. Tom's eyebrows rose.

"He didn't tell you?" Dean shook his head. "Well that's a first…Ya he said we needed to just chill with you tonight. He said you got something to do with that punk ass freshmen." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry bout him. I got him good already." Dean lied loud enough for the rest of the group to hear. Possibly too loud, but they knew he was drunk by the slight slur in his voice. "But I gotta go…so…"

Tom stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "What are you guys gonna do?"

"Well…you see…. the thing is…. he's my…cousin…Ya and he is a really clean boy n I wanna impress him…maybe I can get some money off him so we can don stuff later." Dean could hear the slightest strain in his own voice.

But obviously Tom hadn't noticed, for he gave a cocky chuckle. "Good cause if you're gonna leave us without something to do tonight, you are buyn' next time…. See ya man."

"Ya…see ya." Dean made his way down the now emptying halls, his stride a bit staggering. And the whole time he could feel the group's eyes on him, but he never once looked back.

If everything changed the way he felt it might tonight for some reason, he knew better than to look back.

It was better that way…

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The instant he stumbled in to the library, Sam had to stop himself from turning away shaking his head. Dean was obviously at least vaguely drunk. His every step staggered off this way and that, the wayward way his arms swung about unsurprisingly knocking a pile of brand new books off the table.

Every eye in there watching him, even though some still tried to pretend they were focused on their book. Just so happening to be held up in such a way they could watch the older boy's futile attempts to stay up straight. After a particularly nasty tumble, Sam spotted the librarian quickly pacing toward him, the clear intent of kicking the boy out written on his face.

Sam rushed over, slinging the older boy's arm on his shoulder with one arm and holding a collection of books they would need with the other.

"You just have to come in here drunk." He muttered as he lead Dean right back out the door. "We can't be in there when you are like this man. They are really firm on the rules."

Dean murmured something Sam could not understand. He wasn't exactly sure he wanted too. With every group in school there was at least one person who drank. His was no exception. Most of the guys would drink at parties or after the games, but Sam knew a few that did not restrict it to then

Sam himself was no drinking virgin. He'd seen first hand how much drinking completely destroyed every perception, every thought. But then, he knew his limit and tried to stick with it. The boy he practically dragged into his silver Saturn, on the other hand, didn't. Didn't or didn't care, which ever came first.

He didn't know why he did it after, but instead of dropping him on the doorstep of Jake's or rushing to school and begging for a different partner, he drove right to his house. He knew it would be a while before his Ann and Larry were home, and by that time, Dean would be well past sober.

Sam got out and grabbed Dean's arm. But what he found was not what he'd expected.

"Oh my God." Sam was shocked to find his skin scalding. His brow was drenched in sweat and the older boy's eyes were glazed. He trembled slightly. "Dean…Dean can you hear me?"

He'd been so sure what he'd seen had been him being drunk that he hadn't even noticed any of these things. But now it was hard to think it was anything else. Sam knew in the back of his head if he let Dean go home like this, he would either make it worse or no one would notice what was happening. Or worse, they wouldn't care.

"Dean!" he yelled, trying to get him to snap out of it. "Dean! Dean come on! Tell me what did you take? What did you do? Give me some clue!"

Dean tried to speak, his voice slurring into some incomprehensible word. He seemed to understand that Sam had not been able to understand him and tried to speak again. But Sam only caught one word, "peanuts, " before Dean started to shake more violently then before.

Terrified, Sam was about ready to rush to the hospital when a passerby came rushing up. Without bothering to ask or attempting to talk to Sam, he pushed Sam out of the way, swinging Dean's head on his lap. He glanced at the boy and checked his vitals. "Not good…" The man murmured. He looked up at Sam, his eyes cool and calm. "Did he say anything?"

Sam almost didn't hear him for a second. His eyes were watching Dean's lips and the foam bubbling at them. The man grabbed his shoulder, shaking it with a dead serious look on his face. "Sam, I need to know. Did he say anything?"

Sam shook it off. "Umm ya, something about peanuts and…" In a flash the man was digging in Dean's bag. He searched for a minute and pulled out a small bag filled with slightly off looking peanuts.

He opened the bag and took a waft, instantly cussing. "Dean, you little dumb fucktard."

"We need to get him to the hospital." Sam said.

"No." the man said firmly. "Hold these." Sam took the bag from him and when he looked back, the man had a needle filled with something. Before Sam could say anything, the man jabbed it into his arm, sending the liquid into Dean's veins.

For a second, Dean went completely still. Then he began to take deep, calmed breaths. The man gave a relieved sigh, then looked back at Sam.

"You need to be more careful. He'll be fine now, but tell him the same thing when he wakes up. Take him inside now and clean him up, but what ever you do, don't take him anywhere or answer the door till your parents are home."

"How do you know our names?" Sam stared at the stranger, wondering if he knew the older man. His eyes seemed familiar, like he had seen them before somewhere. Even his voice brought back wisps of memories he couldn't quite grasp.

The man didn't answer. He looked around, as if expecting something to happen then turned back to Sam. "We will talk later."

Sam did as the man had said even though everything he ever learned told him to do the opposite. There was something, some strange vibe he felt deep in his heart that told him the man's advice should not be taken lightly…


	4. Up in smoke

**This chapter, I would like to quickly say, is one of those chapters I need to clairafiy a bit. I decided a while ago how I was going to write this, but I never really said it. When ever the chapter starts out where both boys are together, actively talking, I will be flashing back and forth between perspectives so it becomes dynamic. It is the chapters where it starts off without one or one leaves for great portions of time that I remain on one person's perspectives. Oh ya guys, I found a solution to the time in between my posts. I am going to post these rsf and remove them right before my next posts, so the wc is not driven up by them too bad.**

**Finally, yes this is a shorter chapter. But none the less important. Because it is setting up for something you guys will be looking forward to hearing about. The boys' first hunt for answers and something else plaguing a small town...but more on that later. Don't want to drop too much of the plot on your laps right now. Having dessert too early can spoil your appetite. So...**

**As is my trade mark for this story:Disclaimer: Let's make a list of all the things I do not own in this story and my intentions. I do not own Sam or Dean. I do not own any of the names and have nothing against or for the ones I picked. I do not own the personality types. I do not own plot types or the idea of Dean and Sam not knowing each other. I do not intend to offend, insult or hurt anyone by writing this. I do not own any of the plotlines of season one, two, three, or four of Supernatural. This is a non-profit story, not meant to do anything but entertain those few golden souls who read it and use massive spurts of inspiration a sixteen-year old mind gets so they do not drive her insane. The one thing I do own, in fact, is combining these elements in the way I do. So please, don't sue.**

* * *

Why the heck were there always little dots on the ceilings? Were they there just to put you out of your misery when you were truly and painfully bored?

These were Dean's first thoughts as he woke and his eyes adjusted to the light. He couldn't help but count a few, just as he vaguely remembered doing in grade school when he got in trouble. For while the big things in his past were destroyed, leaving a massive hole in their wake, those little tiny details, the things he did as punishments, the smell of branished leather and gun powder, even details to how his car ran stuck with him.

But as Dean surveyed his surroundings, he found this second major thought of the day…

Where the fuck am I?

The walls around him were shaded an off white. Off in the sense that some idiot decided to throw in a little red at the last second to make the glowy pink color around him. Dean's mind went straight to last time he'd thrown Jake's red socks in with his white shirt. He hadn't trusted himself with the laundry since.

Cabinets hung across the walls along with a few pictures he couldn't really decern in the lighting framed them. There was a deep mahogany dresser with tinged brass handles and typical ornaite designs. But there was no tv or clock in sight.

As a matter of fact, no bed either he realized as he looked down at the coach, shaded the same pinky color as the walls. He was a little embarrassed, as there was a purple stain right where his mouth had been minutes ago. Plus judging by all the evidence either this was some sick joke or he'd slept at some random chick's house last night. He was guessing the latter, because the first made no sense. Not to mention the thick stack of girly-smelling blankets piled atop him attested to someone worrying over him. Only a girl could fuss this much.

He eyed him watch. 5:23 am…which was really weird. Dean had never been able to sleep more than four hours. It was one of the things that got him kicked out, but he never could. He'd tried. Couldn't even on the weekends most often. So either he was up ultra late, a fact he probably would have liked but truly didn't feel like it was right, or there was something wrong.

A second later, as he went to get up, he got his answer. His head was swimming, throbbing as if someone stuck Woody the Woodpecker on it and set him to jack hammer. He could see his cloths, the same ones he wore yesterday. Really no surprise. But what was was the massive sweat stains and the vague smell of bile wafting to his nose.

What the hell happened to me?

Was his next really coherent thought as he stumbled forward, his legs shakey as Pop Eye's after a long run at sea.

"Man I really need some spinach." He mused aloud, cracking a little laugh at his own private joke. He stood by the window, peeling back the thick lavander curtains to see a familiar road at an angle he had never seen before.

For just across the road maybe a block down toward the right was Hank's, Jake's stepdad's bar. Having begun paying more attention to the younger boy, Dean knew based on this that this was Sam's house. He gave the room another quick glance.

"Well you sure know how to pick um Sammy." He murmured. This had officially gotten weird. Why was he even here? Did he get drunk or something last night and Sam just had him sleep it off here? How had Sam even been involved in the first place?

Then he remembered the project, him being supposed to meet Sam at the library. He quickly came up with the most logical idea about what happened. Sam was young rapist who came to town and saw him. Then he drugged him and brought him back here.

He couldn't help back smile at the idea. Of course, there was just no way, but it was still a funny theory.

Having finally regained his sea legs, he realized what he wanted now more than ever was just to get out of here and sort this all out. There were too many questions, not enough answers for this. Not to mention he really needed a drink.

He moved quietly, not wanting to wake Sam or his parents. The house was still fairly dark but Dean had had good eyesight for as long as he could remember. He was at the kitchen door, ready to walk right out and go to Jake's or a bar. Any where.

But before he could pull the knob, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was so quiet, even his normally alert senses hadn't caught that anyone was there. Hense the fact that he nearly jumped half way across the floor.

But for some reason, Dean did not have to look to know who it was. "Jesus Sam."

He turned toward the younger boy as he flicked on the lights. "Dean what the heck do you think you are doing? I mean, you wake up somewhere strange and you just leave? Don't you even wonder what happened?"

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "No offense Sam, as strange as your house is, it ain't exactly the weirdest place I have ever woken up in without knowing how I got there or even where I was."

"Well this time you should…because this time, even I don't know who's fault it is. But I don't think it was yours…"

Dean took a look at Sam's face for the first time. Like a serious look. He hadn't slept well, Dean could tell. And he was worried about something, obviously by the younger boy's rapid runs through his hair. Dean really didn't know why, but he knew it meant he was nervious or deep in thought or frusterated every time he did that.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, turning away from the door.

"I mean, last night I drove you to my place, thinking you were just drunk. But then you went spastic and you were cooking. And then this weird random guy rushes up, jabs you with a needle, tells me not to take you to a hospital, and leaves with you unconscious and me thouroughly freaked to hell. You ain't leaving here till I have an answer man. What the hell happened to you?"

"What does it matter to you anyway, Sammy." He pulled out a small canister, desperate for at least a little alcohol. "Mr. Perfect needs to be a know-it-all too?"

He let out a fake laugh, hoping to hide the fact that Sam's revelations freaked him out. "Dean…I think you know why I care. " he turned away. "I mean, it can't just be me who sees the connections. You came here a year ago and went right into foster care. Same with me. You don't remember much about before then, and neither do I. Then there's the fact that I really really wanna hate you but I can't."

"Thanks."

"All I am saying is, don't you gotta know something is off?"

Dean hesitated. "I don't know…." He let Sam's words sink in and the more they did the more he realized Sam was right… "Yes…"

Sam and Dean spent most of the rest of the morning talking. Now that the cat was out of the bag for both of them, everything was suddenly easier. Although they had been assigned with each other on a project on famous writers and their motivations and possible personal connections, the boys at the moment were more concerned with learning as much as they could about each other.

"So, who's room was that anyways?" Dean took another bite of his reesespuffs before continuing. "Don't tell me its your room. Cuz if it is, that is just sad."

"Uh no actually. That's my adopted sister, Liz's room. She is really their kid, but she's grown up and gone to college. That's why they decided to foster me…it was empty around here."

"Guess they liked you huh? Well, no surprise there. Mine got ticked at me in the first week and gladly kicked me out just after my 18th. Not like I didn't deserve it." He dribbled a little of his mouth as he said this, speaking as casually as one would of the weather.

"Why do you always do that?" Sam asked after a moment.

Dean shrugged, truly not even paying much attention on the current conversation. "Do what?"

"Put yourself down like that…" Dean looked at him. "I'm serious. You don't need to be like this…"

Dean cut him off. "Don't start that whole 'You're better than you think,' shit. You don't know me." But deep down, a part of him knew that wasn't as true as he would like to think.

But it got the desired effect. Sam dropped the subject and the room went quiet for a while as he stirred his oatmeal in an absent fashion.

"That's it." He said softly, such that Dean was unsure if he was meant to hear it. He snatched his bag off the counter behind him. After a bit of rifling he produced a notebook and a pencil.

Dean groaned. "Oh don't tell me you seriously wanna work on the project right now..I just woke up man. I can't stomach school till 2:10."

"That's when school gets out." Sam cocked his brow at Dean.

"Exactly…" Dean gave a smug smile.

Sam just looked at him for a minute, wondering if he really was for real. Then he shook his head. "No, I actually wasn't planning on working on THAT project. There's a different one I have in mind…" He scribbled something onto the sheet.

"And what's that?"

"Well," he looked up from his printing. "we both know there has to be something going on here. There's too much coincidence. So I say we make a list. Maybe if we think enough, one of us can figure out the truth of this all."

"Sounds cool to me…" He paused and then got a massive grin on his face. "How bout this. You and I were kidnapped by Amazons and for some unforunate reason we lost them and our memories."

Sam couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't know Dean. Pretty sure those are just from the comic books." He suddenly averted eye contact. This was just so weird. Here was this kid who almost got him pulverized and now Sam was talking to him civilly. More than that, he never realized hidden in all those idiots there could be someone as funny and fun to be around. And even though he could be a pain in the ass, Sam found himself befriending him. Which was just scary.

Sam continued jotting down ideas. Then all of the sudden, an idea occurred to him. "Dean?" he tapped his lip with his pencial, almost wondering if he should even start.

"Huh?" The elder's green eyes looked into his. There was something so painfully familiar about them. It felt impossible that he'd be able to see so much in someone's eyes. He was laid out, plain as written word in them. And Sam did not see what everyone else did when they looked at the same sight. He saw warmth, protection, love beyond his years that was alluring and fastenating. He saw fear, confusion, and insercity so strong he wanted to look away. He saw power, passion, obessesion even. But above all he saw through Dean's mask.

All of this was so distinctly written, Sam knew for sure his next words had just cause. But how could he say it. "Do you remember your parents or anything else?"

Dean squinted slightly. "It's all fuzzy. You know, it's weird. I remember waking up in the hospital remembering my first name, but not my last. I remember weird things. Like never really having much of a home. I mean, it's not like I forgot it. I just know I never had one. And then there's just different things…like it's funny. I remember what my mom used to say to me before I went to sleep, but I don't remember her name or her face. My father's the same way. But then there's…" Dean hesitated.

"What Dean? What is it?" Sam pursued in an encouraging tone.

"Well…" He began, seeming almost embarrassed. "There's this dream…I've had it every night since I got here. I was in this house. And it was burning down. Smoke was everywhere and pieces of the building were constantly falling. Its kinda fuzzy, but I got trapped somehow underneath a pillar…I always keep feeling like the reason why was important but I can never remember it. Anyway, I started to gag and felt as though I was going to die for sure. Then something hot struck me in the shoulder, probly a piece of the house. Then there was this sound and this face…" he seemed reluctant to go on. "Everything kinda fades. Not like the dream though…I mean my life fades after that."

"But it was just a dream, right?" Sam asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, but…" he raised his shirt and there, plain as day, was a deep red burn. Sam couldn't stop himself from leaning in. It seemed to match a little too well with Dean's dreams. Sam had never been one to believe in coincidence…

Sam glanced at his watch. Unfortunately, really figuring out anymore about what was going on was going to have to wait. "We better go…if we want to be on time for school…"

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. For some reason, school wasn't really his top priority right now…


	5. And the plot thickens

**So for real this time, I am getting right to the action. **

**Sam and Dean run into each other one day at school. They both have kind of noticed each other before, but this encounter really wakes them up. Dean is living with the leader of the school drugee/bad kids, Jake. Jake takes an instant disliking to Sam just as Dean takes an instant though secret liking to him. Both boys have an advanced language class together and Mr. Fenwick assigns them on a project, which both boys' entire future rides on. They both agree and plan to meet in the library after school. We learn a little bit about both boys lives; Dean's current love intrest Darci, his scornful ex Angela, and a few members of Jake's crew such as Tom. We hear about Sam's best friend, Eric and a few other close members. Sam also reveals crush on Linda that he has avoided following through with for some reason. She manages to talk him into partnering with her for labs and he wonders if he will regret it for fear of Jake and his group. Meanwhile, Dean lies to his group about where he is going that night. He meets Sam at the library, stumbling and behaving erratically. Sam, assuming he's drunk, takes him back to his house and is shocked to discover he has a high fever along with violent tremors. Sam manages to catch something about peanuts, possibly referring to the mix of alchol tainted peanuts Dean carries with him. Someone rushes over to help, seeming to know both of them though Sam had no idea who he was. He jabs Deans arm with something and tells Sam to take him inside and not come out till Sam's parents were home. Dean wakes up really early next morning with no idea where he is. He is able to descern he is at Sam's based on the out door surroundings. He goes out of the room to leave, but is caught and startled by Sam, who is insistant on an explaination. He convinces Dean to stay and try and figure this all out. They begin making ideas, trying to figure out where and how they knew/know one another. They discuss each other's memories from before they both moved to this town. Dean reveals this dream involving a fire that strikes a cord with Sam. Then Sam forces Dean to go to school with him.**

**Disclaimer: Let's make a list of all the things I do not own in this story and my intentions. I do not own Sam or Dean. I do not own any of the names and have nothing against or for the ones I picked. I do not own the personality types. I do not own plot types or the idea of Dean and Sam not knowing each other. I do not intend to offend, insult or hurt anyone by writing this. I do not own any of the plotlines of season one, two, three, or four of Supernatural. This is a non-profit story, not meant to do anything but entertain those few golden souls who read it and use massive spurts of inspiration a sixteen-year old mind gets so they do not drive her insane. The one thing I do own, in fact, is combining these elements in the way I do. So please, don't sue.**

* * *

All throughout that next day, Sam and Dean kept their distance. They drove into school at different times and still hung with the same people. They still gave each other all the little glares, discourtesies, and disacknowledgements. It was the little thing they did when no one was really looking. Gestures, expressions; they practically had their own silent, hidden language. Every time they could, they talked to one another. They had each others' numbers and constantly texted. Continuing with the list they started.

So far, Sam had around thirty different ideas listed for how they could possibly know each other, but each seemed as implausible as the next. It was only second hour, but Sam was looking forward to the hour they would have together. As pesky as he could be, Sam had to admit, the kid was funny and very likable. It was as if a new friendship had blossomed overnight between the two. And it was so weird seeing a kid like with such a personality and cockiness having as low self-esteem as Dean carried about himself.

_What about this: we both set out on a three-hour tour and the weather got rough and we got stranded and lost our memories. _Came Dean latest text. Sam couldn't help but chortle a little. He was glad he was so far ahead of his class, or the expression on his teacher's face as he eyed the cell may have just stemmed a little further than the glare the math teacher was giving him. He was chapters ahead, in an advanced program and had declined being put in a higher math.

_Nice try, Gilligan. Do you still seriously watch those? _

_Of course. Mary Ann and Ginger. Need I say more?_

_Okay then. I'm not writing that down though. How about instead we were part of some medical experiments and they didn't have anymore use for us so they let us go._

_And that's anymore likely than my idea? So you're saying we are freaks?_

_Well, it might explain why you reacted that way to the peanuts._

_I don't know, still too SiFi for me. _

_At least mine makes a little more sense and I am not plagiarizing a famous television show._

_No, yours is just so overused it can't be plagiarism._

_You got a point._

The next text he got though he hadn't expected.

_Is it true Dean slept over at your house last night?_ Came the text from Eric's phone. Sam swallowed. A couple seats in front, said boy was looking at him as if gauging his expression to see the truth in his eyes or make sure Sam didn't try to lie to him. Sam bit his lip.

_Who told you that?_

_Does it matter? Is it true? _

Sam hesitated. He couldn't pretend he didn't get the text or anything and knew it wouldn't be long before Eric would draw the wrong ideas…or even the right ones.

_Yes it's true. But it wasn't a sleep over or anything he was…_Sam wasn't sure what he should say. Was it more important to let Eric in on the truth and save Dean's reputation or should he stay in the dark? Finally Sam made up his mind. _He was hopped up on something and needed just to crash._

_Sam you are too nice for your own good. You need to stay away from him. Us and them, we are completely different species. Or did you forget about Jake? _

_No I didn't forget…_Sam gritted his teeth. What business was it of anyone's, even his best friend, if he was friends with Dean? Sam was pretty sure that was just what they were now and he didn't give up too easy on his friends.

_Good…are we still on for going to the beach with Angela, Carrie, Trey, and Will? _

Just then, Dean answered again. _Can I come over tonight?_

Sam had to make his choice then. Hang out with his popular friends he'd waited for all his life or chill with the kid they were all warning him away from. Go to the beach or stay at home in secret. What was socially acceptable versus what was, in his heart, right.

Finally, while staring right at Eric, he made his choice.

_Ya, Dean, sounds cool. _

* * *

Dean stared at the ceiling, averting Jake's intense gaze, locked right on him. He could feel it even though he wasn't looking, as if it burned his skin. It had not gone unnoticed to the elder man that Dean had not gotten home last night. And while he said he was with some-hot-girl-he-didn't-even-remember's-name last night, Jake wasn't easily fooled. He knew Jake's instincts were telling him that there was more to the story if it wasn't a flat out lie.

This was the only hour he had with him and he just wanted to get it over with. Jake had these powers of intimidation which he had never had used on Dean. They had been unquestionably friends and never clashed.

Until now.

Now that Jake had, Dean could see why he had the school terrified of him. The gleam in Jake's eyes was unforgiving to say the least and seemed to inquire deeper into Dean's very soul than he was comfortable.

He knew Jake had not liked that Dean had been somewhere without the group and couldn't tell him any specific detail. The way Dean had been averting full on eye contact while telling his bogus stories had kept the wool from being pulled over the leader's eyes. Every moment Dean was with him he knew Jake was becoming surer and surer of Dean's deception. He was also had to be wondering who Dean was texting so damn much.

Everyone in the group was always closely monitored by Jake. He always wanted to know who they were texting, calling and just about everything else. It was partially because of the group's illicit activities. If he should ever choose to betray the group, Jake might have forewarning by their actions before hand. And it made sense. They almost all had black records and were red flagged for any suspicious activity in the town. Which was why Jake would have to keep a tight ship. "Don't ask don't tell" was the policy and it was dead important. The higher you were in the pecking order the more paranoid Jake was if you started to rebel.

Which was why Dean now had to inform him if he was even so much as going to go take a dump.

And he had to be back with in a certain amount of time or explain why he was late as if Jake was some mom watching her kid she thinks is into drugs.

It was a very, very uncomfortable hour.

He needed out, into next hour where he would be able to talk to Sam without a guard on his ass. It was completely safe for them. None of his group even knew truly the members of the AP classes. It was all he could really think about and he wasn't quite sure why.

Finally, he settled on one of Sam's suggestions. To look up odd events around a year ago involving persons matching their description on his phone. Unfortunately, in this day and age, that was all too common. He couldn't help but cringe at all the strange events and laugh at a few. Most were irrelevant but there were a few that seemed vaguely familiar…

There was an explosion in a plant by Pittsburg that manufactured candy of all things after a series of candy-coated deaths. The suspected culprits were, ironically, a couple of kids. Then he noted a couple states over a women being confined to a mental hospital because she had killed seven people and claimed it wasn't her fault. She claimed man she'd seen with two teens stopped whatever it was and saved her. There was also a rather sad story about a whole family slaughtered and the culprits being a man with two kids.

He wouldn't have connected the cases except that there were so many each involving people of the same description. Down to the last detail. However, he might have just shook it off as coincidences except the next article he found.

It spoke of a fire. Three people were seen breaking in entering in a small abandoned house on the edge of Witherpine, South Carolina. A dark haired male around his early forties and two teenagers; one mid teens, the other late. There was a reported ruckus then the house went alight in flames. There were a few explosions and the house started to completely fall apart. The fire department arrived and managed to pull the older man from the flames, unconscious, but his accomplices were never found. There were no human remains found, however. The man was in horrible shape and wounded though not burnt. He was awake a very short time in which he unveiled the names of the two, Sam and Dean, inquiring desperately about them. After he slipped back into unconsciousness, the police filed a missing-persons on both boys and are searching the wreckage of the old house for information.

"Holy shit!" Dean couldn't keep himself from exclaiming.

His jaw literally dropped wide. Was this seriously for real? He stared at the picture they had found on the man's person of him and two boys. The moment his eye's locked on the older boy's face, he was filled with shock. He realized the same green eyes in the picture were currently examining it. Every thing he ever imagined he looked like younger he was. And looking at the other boy, images of Sam's face came to his head.

This was unreal. He glanced over dates and the authenticity of the article, to make sure someone wasn't pulling a leg over him. Sure enough, the writer seemed real enough. Plus there were other articles on it, each reporting on the same basic story with little variation.

Just then, he looked up. More than half the class was staring at him and it was dead silent. He glanced over toward Jake; unsure he wanted to see how he was behaving but knowing he had to at the same time.

All the time he had known Jake, Dean was starting to think nothing could surprise him. But in that instant, Jake proved him wrong. Because for all the revulsion, disgust, or at least curiosity Dean expected, none of it was there. In fact there was no emotion what so ever across his face. Not that Dean could read it.

He realized the class wasn't staring at him. They were staring at Jake, who's normally warm complexion had gone ashen. Jake, whose forehead lay buried into the desk. Jake, who had one second been making a face at Dean's Google screen, the next pitched forward, tremors racing up and down his form. The gleam of sweat visible as his shallow breathing came out.

Whatever has been holding him up had obviously diminished the next second. He crashed to the floor as his rigid body went utterly lax and a pained gasp broke from his lips. He lay there, unmoving save the barest rise and fall of his chest.

No one, including Dean, was sure if this was some kind of joke or if it was real. Then, Dean noticed a large dark splotch oozing from his lips and the side of his face.

Blood.


	6. The past illuminates the future

**Well, hello there, please don't kill me. I have too many excuses to count, but I won't bore you with them. Not too thrilled with this chapter, because I usually like to build even small villans up a little bit earlier...but anyway, I think it's okay. No more blabbing cept I am going to change my name soon. So don't be surprised if this story pops up with another auther writing it, its still me. Just check the ID and you'll know for sure.**

**Let's make a list of all the things I do not own in this story and my intentions. I do not own Sam or Dean. I do not own any of the names and have nothing against or for the ones I picked. I do not own the personality types. I do not own plot types or the idea of Dean and Sam not knowing each other. I do not intend to offend, insult or hurt anyone by writing this. I do not own any of the plotlines of season one, two, three, or four of Supernatural. This is a non-profit story, not meant to do anything but entertain those few golden souls who read it and use massive spurts of inspiration a sixteen-year old mind gets so they do not drive her insane. The one thing I do own, in fact, is combining these elements in the way I do. So please, don't sue.**

* * *

Sam slipped his hand behind the blind, peering out to the parking lot. Their teacher was busy barking orders at Evan James, the hour's class clown. Last lockdown drill, Evan had sworn he would hide in the cabinet next time. He was tiny so unfortunately it worked for going in, but not going out. When their teacher scowled at him to get out, Evan found that he was stuck. The whole class was currently lined up in a row, trying to pull him out while some were on the ground fighting hysterical laughter. It only got worse when the darn thing pitched forward on top of Jeremy Thompson. Instead of getting hurt, Jeremy also ended up in the cupboard, making it that much harder to pull the two of them out.

Despite all the madness, Sam wasn't on the floor laughing with Eric. There was something gnawing inside him that made him nervous. He eyed the flashing police cars and the ambulance. Ten minutes and 24 seconds ago (he had counted, nervous) a stretcher and a whole sling of paramedics had ran inside. Every so often, a blue dressed medic would rush out to the vehicle and grab something.

He couldn't explain why, but he felt like something was going on. Something big. Although the teacher tried to assure them when it started it was probably a precaution, the medics he saw had one common factor only his keen eyes could pick up on. They had traces of blood on their hand and a wild glint in their eyes. He glanced down at his cell again. No reply. Still.

Dean wasn't answering his texts…

Just then, Sam saw a shadow pass the window and the sound of someone frantically running outside. Then, the world went cold and the small hairs on his arms stood up on end as another shadow raced after the first. He bit down hard on his lip. Something told him, a voice in the very back of his mind, that he should be out there.

He looked at his teacher. His face was red as the man hunted in his desk for a screw driver, a mallet, anything to help the two boys get out of where they were confined. Evan and Jeremy weren't making it easy. They were laughing their butts off as another one of the kids tripped over their own two feet trying to help out. Sam suddenly realized no one would notice if he slipped out now.

He moved swiftly and silently, avoiding the fallen legs and arms of his classmates and slipped out the door. His instincts were right. He looked down at the trail of bloody footprints and the burst flourscent light overhead. Whatever was going down, it wasn't good…

Sam took a deep breath and started down the trail…

Dean swore under his breath, eying the open cut across his arm. Jake still wasn't conscious, but Dean wasn't sure it mattered at the moment. Even the mafia leader might piss himself if he saw what was coming at him.

He could hear a furious howl behind him and cussed. How the heck had that thing found him that fast? And what the fuck had he gotten himself into now?

The moment Dean had tried to touch Jake in the classroom, he felt everything go cold. An icy vice like grip gripped his arm and the next thing Dean knew, his face was getting to know the concrete. A few of the kids freaked out and bolted out the door, some of them were frozen where they sat, and some had been knocked unconscious by…something. This included the teacher, who had rushed to Jake moments after Dean and now lay with her head lolled off on her desk, one of the pens she'd kept in a cup embedded in her jugular.

Dean got up and quick as lightning pulled an iron knife from his boot. He rushed once more at Jake, who looked increasingly worse with every second that passed by. This time he could finally see what was causing all the chaos. The air was shimmering, the figure of a boy Dean recognized from somewhere strengthening with every second. His eyes were reddened and a vertical cut split his wrists deeply.

The thing lashed out at Dean but with reflexes Dean didn't even know he had, he sipped right under its legs and sliced the air above him. He hit it right in the manly spot and it howled before its figure flickered out of existence.

"That's gotta hurt." Dean couldn't resist musing aloud, as he reached Jake's side. With the aspersion gone, his breathing had evened out, although he still looked like death. Dean swore as he saw Jake's arms. They were cut identical to the thing. He ripped up the long sleeve shirt he had blessedly worn that morning and wrapped the elder man's bloody arm.

He looked nervously at the door as he slung Jake's arm around his shoulder, gripping his chest tightly. With staggering but pained progress, he eased Jake toward the door. He could see the vaguest glint of consciousness in the elder man and urged him to keep awake.

"Come on, I can't just drag your fat ass!" He shook Jake slightly. It seemed to be enough to get him to try and sustain his own weight.

Although the sane part of his brain was screaming at him to get out of school, something told him it wouldn't matter where they went. Whatever it was would find them. He needed to suck it up and confront whatever the fuck it was so it didn't catch him with his pants—or anyone else's—down again.

They both staggered the opposite way. First priority was getting Jake to safety, which for some reason Dean knew was likely in the cafeteria.

Jake suddenly blacked out completely again, forcing deadweight on Dean's shoulders. It wasn't so much that Jake was heavy as it took Dean completely by surprise that sent him sprawling to the floor. As he tried to regain his grip on Jake, he was suddenly face to face with the boy again. Before Dean could lash out with his knife, it flickered out of existence, disappearing completely.

Gripping his sore shoulder, Dean glared at the empty air around him. "Show yourself you son of a bitch!"

Then again, maybe it would have been better if it hadn't. Next thing Dean knew, he was in the air. Again. His body crashed into a nearby water fountain, breaking it clean off the wall and sending gross school water into the halls. If it hadn't been for the nasty slice it had created in his arm, Dean might have actually noticed the paramedics rushing at him in time in time to tell them not to come.

As it was, before he even could think, the creature was on them. Dean blinked and suddenly there were medics lying all over the hallway; all of them unconscious or worse. Then the thing turned its attention back to Dean.

Slightly shakily, he raised up his knife, which the creature effortlessly sent flying. It cupped his cheeks between its icy fingers, red eyes glaring into his own. He waited for the pain to come. He wasn't going to get out of this. Not alive. Not this time.

But instead, he heard the sharp sound of gunfire. The creature dispersed into a puff of smoke. Holding the trigger was a tall man with dark eyes and a scar breaking his complexion across his face. Dean vaguely remembered his face from the other night, when he himself had been in a similar situation Jake was now. But there was also something eerily familiar about it. Something on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.

The man came forward, extending a large hand out to Dean. He hesitated. This guy had a gun after all, but something about his eyes influenced Dean to trust him. He took the hand and used it to steady himself up.

"Come on." He said in a husky voice as he effortlessly slung an unconscious Jake over his shoulder. "We need to get out of here before it comes back."

Dean had no arguments there. He had always been the kind of person who wouldn't question things right away, but he had a million queries right now. All of which he was certain the man could help him answer, but for now, he followed wordlessly.

Jake was no light guy, so Dean couldn't help but be a bit impressed the man could carry Jake and still move fast enough that Dean had to fight to keep up. He was so tall he made Dean look like a midget next to him. No small feat considering Dean was one of the tallest kids in his class at 6'1". He smelled of leather and gunpowder, sending a tingle of familiarity down Dean's spine. His hair was cropped short as Dean's and there was this glint in his eye that seemed to suggest he was always ready for anything.

The man herded Dean into the cafeteria's kitchen, carefully laying a thin line of salt down after the door. Dean had no clue why, but the moment he did, he could feel his muscles relax. He slumped to the floor against one of the grimy carts they put trays on, exhausted.

"What the Hell was that thing?" He mused aloud.

"A spirit. To be specific, Alex's extremely pissed off spirit." The man shot Dean a pointed look.

"Wait, what? A spirit? Those don't exist. Who the heck are you?" Dean demanded.

"Oh Dean, you know deep down that that's not true…As for who I am, it'd be too dangerous for you to know my real name. But for you, I am Jason." Jason ran his hands down Jake's crippled form. "He doesn't look too good, but you know you probably saved his life back there." Jason smiled. For some reason, it felt good to make the older man smile and Dean couldn't help but smile himself.

"I don't get this…what the fuck is going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I the spirit, but I can't quite figure out why he was here. I need you to fill in the blanks." Jason pulled out a rather official looking file and sprawled it open across the table.

Dean turned it toward him. Jason flexed his hands and read aloud. "'Alex Rhemes. Born October 7th 1975. Died December 9th, 1993. Officially ruled a suicide, but police had suspicions of foul play.' Barely a year ago." He shuffled the next file to the top. "'Jesse Rhemes. Born 1984. Died November 2nd, 1993. Ruled an accidental death by poisoning. He ate something that ruptured the lining on his stomach. They never managed to figure out just how he got a hold of it or what killed him.'" Dean hadn't really heard the whole thing after November 2nd. Something about the date made him extremely uneasy. Jason saw it too. He had a grim light in his eye, sympathy perhaps? Pity?

"Alex…Yeah I know the name…he was Jake's old right hand man."

"And Jake killed him." Jason surmised.

"No, not exactly. Jake said that Jesse had gotten a hold of some of Alex's durgos." Jason stared at him blankly. "It's alcohol soaked peanuts."

"No I figured that out. The thing I couldn't decide is who you think you are fooling with a name like that. Durgos? Seriously? Sounds like a failed Spanish of drugs. Real subtle."

"Hey, we get credit for the idea anyways."

"Whatever. So what happened to Alex after that?"

"Jake said that Alex couldn't take it anymore. His brother had meant a lot to him, so when he died, Alex just got progressing worse and worse till one day when they went to check up on him, he'd slit his wrists."

"Okay, so that explains almost everything. Alex is making Jake and co suffer for what happened in the same way he and his brother died. The only thing I can't figure out is how it could make him angry so fast. It isn't normal. Are you sure that Jake didn't do anything else?"

Before Dean had a chance to answer, there was a pounding on the door to the kitchen.

"Dean? Open up!" Sam's all-too-familiar voice was half way relieving to Dean, half way worrying. He didn't want Sam to get hurt at all. Dean sighed. Sam was probably safer in here.

Jason seemed a bit apprehensive as well, but all the same let Sam in. "Watch the salt." He cautioned.

"What are you doing here, Sammy?" Dean asked, running his hand through his hair.

Sam pursed his lips at Dean. "You had me worried. Besides, I figured this was all your fault. Only you can cause this much damage." Sam gave Dean a half smirk. "So what the heck is going on anyway?"

Dean and Jason exchanged looks. "You tell him. I still ain't sold on it myself."

Jason sighed. This was going to be a long day.


	7. Salt, blood, and lighter fluid

**Well, kind of nervous about this one and you'll see why, I do believe. I worked hard on this chapter and there's quite a bit of action in it. Just hold onto your hat.**

**As is customary now: Let's make a list of all the things I do not own in this story and my intentions. I do not own Sam or Dean. I do not own any of the names and have nothing against or for the ones I picked. I do not own the personality types. I do not own plot types or the idea of Dean and Sam not knowing each other. I do not intend to offend, insult or hurt anyone by writing this. I do not own any of the plotlines of season one, two, three, or four of Supernatural. This is a non-profit story, not meant to do anything but entertain those few golden souls who read it and use massive spurts of inspiration a sixteen-year old mind gets so they do not drive her insane. The one thing I do own, in fact, is combining these elements in the way I do. So please, don't sue.**

* * *

All introductions, explanations, and witty banter aside, when all was said and done, Sam looked much more prepared to believe in Jason's crazy idea than Dean did. He was somewhat put off by the fact that the younger boy was willing to buy such a ludicrous story so fast, but maybe it wasn't so crazy…

What the hell was Dean thinking! Of course it was crazy. Dingo-ate-my-baby-crazy. Batshit insane. Dean spent the next few minutes as Jason and Sam continued going over the finer points of stuff Dean already knew coming up with some rather funny names for just how crazy this whole thing was. Monsters didn't exist. They were just stories told to terrify small children and teach them lessons about wandering off late at night or telling lies or just being plain old bad. Ghosts and spirits and poltergeists were the stuff of legend and cheap b-rated movies. None of that stuff actually ever happened, right?

But then why did he have this nagging déjà vu feeling swelling in his heart?

And if none of what Jason was saying was real, if he really was just some random nutter, than what had attacked Dean and Jake in the classroom?

And possibly most troubling is why did it look like Mr. Science-Geek-Big-Brains was actually buying it?

Dean wondered for a moment if the world had simply gone mad and let a big gob of spit out onto the floor to test and see if gravity was still working. Nope, still didn't float back up and hit him in the eye. The world was still spinning. Maybe. How do you even tell if it is or not for sure?

Dean heaved a great sigh and cast a sidelong glance to where Jake lay, shivering faintly. Figures he'd have developed a fever on top of everything else that was going on. They couldn't wait any longer damn it! Jake was a bustard, even Dean could openly admit that. But no one deserved to die in a school kitchen. Extremely undignified. Even if somehow this were all real, then what were they still doing just sitting there on their asses while Sam and Jason debated and Dean was ready to rip his already short hair out? He cleared his throat and both other men looked at him.

"Alright and dandy guys, but is anyone else extremely bored being stuck in a school kitchen? I never had any desire to find out how they fix the gruel they call food around here nor do I want to continue examining the linoleum. So I got a question worth asking. Now that we're here, what the hell are we going to do?"

Jason rolled his eyes and muttered something like "You always were a big pain in the ass." Then he stood up and took on a real formal tone Dean had heard thousands of times from teachers and Sam. But unlike the pair of those, something about the elder man made Dean actually want to listen. "This shouldn't be too much harder than just a run of the mill salt and burn. Although I can guarantee we're going to have a hell of a pissed off spirit to deal with. And someone's going to have to stay here and watch him." Jason hitched his thumb to Jake.

"I'll go, you stay here." Both Sam and Dean replied simultaneously. Dean clenched his jaw. There was no way he was going to let this little idiot get his ass hurt. Something about Sam's eyes suggested he was thinking something similar.

"Look Sam, you're younger and I don't want this to end with you in the hospital. You're not getting hurt as long as I can do something about it."

"And you're blood's less precious than mine?" Sam fumed

"Yes."

"Listen, I'm tired of people trying to treat me like I'm some delicate baby. I can handle myself. Besides, what do I do if he wakes up? He's exactly in my fan club." Dean picked up a pot from the shelf and gestured whacking Jake flat on his face with it. "Dean! No, I'm not going to hit him!"

"Why not? It's not like it's the first time he's ever been hit or anything."

"Listen boys, what I need is someone who knows where the cemetery is. Whoever can tell me that can come." Jason said diplomatically.

"It's across from the church, three blocks from here." Both said at the same time again. Dean scowled at Sam, whose eyes shot just as many daggers back.

"Alright, only one way to settle this." Dean stated.

"Oh no, not Rock, Paper, Scissors, come on! What are we, eight?"

"Rock, Paper, Scissors solves all, Sammy."

"Stop calling me that." Sam hissed.

"Make me!"

"You two are being like five year olds, just play the bloody game already or I'm leaving you BOTH here." Neither boy noticed the smirk on Jason's face, barely concealed by a hand feigning a cough. Jason's threat, however, didn't sit idly with either boy.

"Rock beats Scissors, Dean."

"What are you talking about? That's a paper."

"Sure….cause a moment a go, it looked clearly like a scissors."

"My fingers are stiff. Redo!"

"You've just been de-aged again."

"Damn it! Two out of three!"

"Dean, I won again, we can't keep playing."

"Yes we can!"

"Until what?"

"Until I win!"

"That'll never happen, you're too predictable."

"Sure I am. One more? Winner takes all?"

"Whatever Dean…."

"You cheated!"

"Dean, you always do the same one. Always scissors."

"Oh….right." Dean flushed. How had he just been beaten by a fourteen year old? He hissed, hating the idea of Sam going out there with that thing. He hadn't quite yet figured out why it mattered so much. After all, just their rock paper scissors game was a clear testament to how Dean felt about the boy. All of his over intelligence, maturity, and perfectionism would be annoying on anyone else and it was. It really, really was.

But then, what Jason had said flashed across his mind. He didn't tell Sam when they had been talking earlier. And maybe that was for the best. Dean still hadn't completely ruled out the idea that Jason might just be plain nuts. How could they in any universe be related? Much less brothers.

"Dean," Jason had a look of the upmost seriousness, passing him a shotgun. "You need to take this. If that ghost gets within a few feet of you, you…"

"Yeah Yeah, I shoot Casper the-not-so-friendly, right?"

Sam pursed his lips. "Listen, just don't do anything stupid. Stay here and wait for us to come back genius. No heroics. I don't particularly want to be burying you; no matter how much of a pain in the ass you are."

As Sam and Jason left together, Dean bent out some of his anger by kicking the door. Sam should be here, not him! Sam was too young to be rushing into anything dangerous. And too important. He had a whole future ahead of him, but Dean…this was probably the best gig he could get. He realized faintly that "hunting" as Jason had called it was the only way he would ever make something good out of himself.

Suddenly, he realized how cold it was in here and looked down. By kicking the door, Dean had inadvertently broken the salt line! He spun around on his heels and the sight he saw would likely haunt him forever. Floating lightly by the table was not one, but two ghosts, hovering over Jake who was wildly convulsing.

One of them spun toward him, barring inhuman, pearly white teeth and red-tinted brown eyes. The ghost jerked his head and all of the knives from one of the holders rose into the air before hurling themselves towards Dean. Dean only just managed to dive behind the cupboard, one of the knives clipping his arm and drawing blood. He took aim toward the one who attacked him and fired.

The ghost dissipated in a puff of smoke and the other one growled at him before getting shot as well. Dean dove for the door, leveling the salt to cover the whole threshold. Satisfied, he got on his haunches, only to find himself staring at a mildew leg of blue jean staring him in the face.

The smaller boy grasped his shoulders, staring into his eye for half a second before sending him flying into the air, the rifle slipping from his grasp. He raced to reach it again, only to find the other ghost, stepping on his fingers and pulling him to his feet by his hair. He hissed loudly, desperately trying to find something to help him out of this situation.

There, just a few inches from his reach was a canister of salt! Dean desperately fought to reach it as the ghost got a firm grip on his neck, attempted to snuff the life from him. With a final desperate reach, he yanked the salt up and splashed a handful at the ghost holding him. It quickly dissipated, sending Dean sprawling to the floor. Seeing spots, he crawled and quickly got his rifle back. He took aim at the other and pulled the trigger.

With both temporarily dissipated, he ran to the other half of the room and quickly poured a new line. Both ghosts stood on one end, just staring, their ever open reddish eyes a maelstrom of anger.

Before he forgot, he pulled out his cell phone, punched in Sam's number and waited. It rung once, twice, three times, four, and finally on the fifth ring a familiar voice came on the line.

"Dean?"

"Sam! Thank God you answered." Dean told Sam what happened after Jason and he left.

"Dude, only you could get in that much trouble in like ten minutes." Sam sighed after he was done. Dean didn't bother objecting; it was kind of true. "So the other boy, he's probably Jesse, Alex's brother. We'll have to burn them both."

"Yeah, I figured. Just be careful, okay? Both of them look beyond pissed."

Sam hung up the phone, quickly informing Jason that they needed to dig up two graves now. Said older man groaned loudly.

"Okay, so here's how we're going to do this. I need you to cover me. Chances are when they realize what we're up to, they'll try and stop us; especially since there's two."

"Right," Replied Sam, feeling rather like a civilian charging off into battle without a sword or a speck of armor. Sam knew he should be in every sense of the word freaking out right now, but he was eerily calm. The same had happened when Jason was telling him about hunting. Something just naturally clicked. Faint surges of recognition and memories splashed through his mind; a half remembered world he once knew. One of terror and thrill, of cheep diner food and lumpy motel mattresses, of saving lives and making a difference.

As they pulled up to the graveyard, Sam felt his heart give a surge of protest. It was a place he'd past a hundred times and he'd never been too queasy before. How had he missed the way the air seemed to still as they passed over the threshold of the gate? The way many of the crypts and tombs seemed too worn to read properly; how the light didn't quite seem to reach the cold earth. True enough, this was the first time he really spent much time here. He knew Eric sometimes went here on weekends, paying respects to his mother. But Sam had never gone with him, nor had he been here long enough to have someone he knew and cared for die. True enough his foster parents brought him to church every Sunday, but he'd never actually bothered to stray behind the church into the cemetery.

"We're going to need to try and find where their plots are. You take the west side, I'll take east. You find their graves, holler for me, okay?" Jason asked, a shovel slung skillfully over his back. He noticed how worried the younger boy looked and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I've done my homework. There's nothing in this graveyard cept maybe those two ghosts. And for the moment they are more interested in Dean."

Sam nodded but still clutched his rifle tightly to his chest. He began examining the newer looking gravestones he came across. He figured they were only looking for newer stones, since Alex and Jesse only died about a year ago. He carefully picked his way around the gravestones, trying not to walk on the spots where the bodies were buried.

He then spied a pair of gravestones. But it wasn't so much that they looked the right age or anything; in fact, they were densely shrouded by rich green plants. There were buds running up the stalks of each of the plants. Their leaves were razor edged and if Dean were here, Sam knew he would be snarkily comparing it to a marijuana leaf. Part of him was drawn towards the herbs; the same part that seemed relaxed and at ease in the graveyard. Relenting to trust this hidden instinct, Sam walked over to the graves with trepidation.

The learned part of his mind identified the plant as he drew closer. It was wormwood, a plant associated with the dead, particularly the risen dead. How he knew that last tidbit was anyone's guess. He reached his hand out, gently brushing the plants aside to read the text beneath. "Alex Rhemes, Jesse Rhemes." He read aloud.

"Jason! I found them!" He shouted, seeing the other man about fifty feet away. Jason strode toward him; having little trouble clearing the distance between them. He mussed Sam's hair. "Good job, Sam. Now keep on watch." Jason sighted the wormwood and with a spray of gasoline, he set the plants covering the markers on fire. "Wormwood enhances their ability to retain shape and gives them power." He explained. Sam nodded, watching as the plants were reduced to charred cinders.

He dug his spade deep into Alex's grave and began digging. Sam was somewhat surprised at how easily the other man worked. He made it look like he was doing nothing more than little bits of garden work.

Sam suddenly found himself flying through the air, slamming against a half broken tombstone which crumbled as he hit it. Pain shot through his back, but he had somehow managed to keep hold of his shotgun. The eerie figure of one of the spirits encroached on the fallen boy, malice in his red tinged eyes. Panicked and bleary eyed, he tried to take aim but found it was next to impossible with the dots and stars dancing across his vision.

Then a gunshot rang out and the ghost dissolved onto the wind like a cloud of foul smoke. Jason's torso up to a little bellow his hips was visable from the grave, his own shotgun slowly lowering. "You okay, Sam?" He called out.

A little embarrassed that he'd been ambushed so easily, Sam called out an affirmative as he got up. A little dizzy, but everything save his pride was still intact. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us. Just watch for when he or his brother comes back, okay?"

Sam nodded, keeping a keen eye after that. Every prickle on the back of his neck made him jump, ready to fire. He whipped around and found it was only a tree quaking in protest of a light wind that had picked up. He reprimanded himself for being so trigger happy. "Be alert, not a spaz," he told himself under his breath and then returned to his vigil.

There was a cold sensation coming from his side and he spun around. Instinct took over and for the first time he could remember, Sam fired the rifle. The spirit hissed and popped out of existence just before the salt round hit him. He heard something stir to his behind and fired again, this time it caught his target.

As he heard a clang on wood sound, it faintly registered that Jason had reached the coffin. Suddenly, both boys were standing on either side of the grave, looking as if they were ready to rip out Jason's spleen and feed it to the mice wandering the boneyard. Sam fired at one, but before he could reload and hit the other, the ghost flickered and disappeared.

Jason had managed to pull himself out of the grave and was hastily pouring lighter fluid and salt across Alex's bones when Sam heard another crack above him. Foolishly, he thought it was just the wind stirring the branch again.

Whether it was a final protest of Alex before he burst into flames behind Sam or Jesse avenging his brother or even just really rotted roots, Jason didn't know. All he knew was one second, Sam seemed to have gotten a handle on shooting the vengeful spirits, the next there was an awesome crack and the oak tree right behind Sam slammed to the ground, taking the smaller boy with it. Jason was far enough away only to get whipped by branches, drawing blood to his face. But he wasn't close enough to rip the youngest Winchester out of the way before the massive tree trunk crushed him.

Horrified, Jason ripped the branches off of him, not caring to assess how badly his face was whipped. He launched himself over the trunk, screaming at the top of his lungs, "SAM! SAMMY! SAM!"

The younger boy was in a dazed state of half consciousness when he reached his side. Blood was dribbling from his lips in gobs, suggesting some serious lung damage. Jason had no idea what to do. If he moved the tree, he risked further injuring Sam. But if Sam didn't get out soon, he would suffocate.

In a split decision, Jason lifted the tree somehow, his muscles bulging with effort. With a miraculous heave, he pushed it completely off the boy. But his victory was short-lived. Sam looked like a pancake, one of his ribs sticking out of his skin grotesquely. If he had to guess, he'd have said several other bones were broken. The only part of him that looked remotely decent were his legs, flecked with blood, scratches, and bruises, but unharmed otherwise.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Jason yelled. He spied Jesse out of the corner of his eye and shot him twice for good measure, the second round cracking a good piece off a headstone. His mind screamed that he needed to get Sam to the hospital desperately, but it was still risky moving him and if he called in the professionals, there would be too many awkward questions and not to mention digging up Jesse would be out of question.

Sam was bleeding so rapidly, there wasn't too much of a choice. His heart thudded in his chest; every second was Sam's life slipping away. He punched in Dean's number, mentally preparing himself for the earful he was going to get from Dean.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Something happened…I need you to come to the graveyard asap."

"What's going on?"

"Just come! Now! Time's of the essence. I won't be here when you get here most likely. I need you to dig up the second grave and salt and burn the bones. Leave Jake where he is."

"How will I know which one?"

_Just look for the massive fucking tree and the pool of blood, that should set you straight._ Jason held his tongue. "Believe me, you'll know." He said, deciding to play it cryptic. "And fill both of them in too, okay?"

"Yeah yeah yeah I hear you old man."

"I am't old." Jason hissed. "Just get here." He snapped the phone shut and loped to the gate. The whole while long his mind was filling with images of what he might find when he comes back. That would be unbearable, and impossible for him to imagine. He started his car, almost not even bothering getting out and pushing the gate more open. But if he wanted Dean to complete the job, he needed to try and keep things as quiet as possible. As if it really mattered. Who wasn't going to notice the blood or the tree or the open grave? It wasn't like they did this at night or anything, which was probably not the most intelligent idea.

Sam was out completely when he got there. He nervously felt for a pulse; rewarded with a faint thum thum, thum thum. He gently rolled Sam onto a blanket, grimancing at how pale the boy looked and how much blood covered the grass.

"SAMMY!" a voice cut the air and Jason felt his own heart almost stop. Evidently Dean had taken more haste in getting here than he had seemed to have wanted to when they talked. The other boy was frantically racing to him. A moment later, he was hovering over him, asking so many questions at once it sounded like gibberish to Jason's ears.

"Listen Dean!" He cut him off. "I'll talk to you about it later. Right now he needs to get to a hospital. Help me lift a side of the blanket and get him into the back." That shut Dean up instantly and he gently helped get his younger brother into the car.

Jason could tell the worry in his eye was genuine, raw fear. Not for himself, for the little brother Jason knew he had not yet fully acknowledged. He had told Dean about who he was because he sensed the other boy needed to have a head start on Sam. Dean needed to be the one who told his younger about their blood relation; to rediscover what he had always had. The one thing that seemed to matter most to him. Sam, on the other hand, would not have much of an issue accepting who he was. And in fact, if Dean took too long, the clever boy might just figure it out himself. But Jason knew there was something far heavier, a much more cruel burden, which would be placed on Sam's shoulders.

But for now, as Dean lowered his younger into the front seat, Jason realized if he left the salt and burn to the other man, it wouldn't get done right in Dean's haste to see his brother. "You go on ahead, Dean. I'll finish up here and meet you there."

Dean instantly slid himself into the driver's seat, Sam's lolling head on his lap, and with a screech he tore out of the cemetery, hitting at least one gravestone on the way.

Dean had been in and out of the hospital several times. Whether because one of his friends got seriously hurt doing something stupid or because of some overdose on his part and even once, the night his foster parents kicked him out, for a suicide attempt. He'd drank and drank and drank and then he did something he had never even tried before. He slit his wrists. Jake had found him just after he passed out and, bandaging his wrists to protect him from dying from blood loss, he drove him to the hospital. There they treated him without much of a word. Of course, some shrink still managed to come see him, but gave up when he realized all he was going to get from Dean was sarcastic comments.

The whole way to the hospital was a blur. He was on auto-pilot. Just driving while keeping one hand just under Sam's chin, his sensitive fingers begging for a pulse. And it did beat, weaker and weaker the longer went by, but it still beat. And then, just as he made the turn off to the hospital, there was nothing.

"NO! NONONO! DON'T YOU GO GIVING UP ON ME! NOT NOW! COME ON YOU LITTLE BITCH! BEAT!" He slammed on the gas, pulling into the emergency lot. "SOMEBODY HELP ME! HE CAN'T DIE!"

* * *

***Whimpers* Please don't kill me. It just kind of came, like many of my plot twists. Origionally didn't intend for something like this, but it provides a perfect chance for me to arrange the rest of the wild ideas in my head. Get them to obey me a little bit more maybe. **

**Anyways, so enjoy the little cliffie. And remember, reviews might just help Sam's heart start again.**


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